Chocolate Spaghetti
by SummerStarWatcher
Summary: Another blog fic.  Rose and Tom can't help but annoy each other every time he comes over to England, and it finally comes to an argument over hot chocolate sauce and spaghetti with marmite.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey guys, here's a little story (well, not really that little...) that's been in my notebook for a while now. It's another blog fic, with a bit of artistic expansion on my part. This is set when they're alone together in the Banana House all day (Saffy and Sarah and Indigo are at college, and Bill took Eve for a day out). Multiple references from the blog.

Hope you enjoy the story :)

~Star

XXXXX

Rose

I know things are different. I know things change, and I know I can't stop it.

And sometimes, I hate that.

Everything has changed so much. I'm not a little girl anymore, and I'm not as assured or confident that things will work out. I know better now, and even if Caddy and Michael and Sarah and Indigo turned out alright, I know better than to expect the same for myself.

But knowing that doesn't make it any easier to listen to Tom talk about Angela or Jess or whoever it is this time.

And so I'm trying to forget him. Trying to cultivate a heart of stone, as Saffy and Sarah used to say.

Only, I'm not telling anyone.

Because they'd laugh at me.

Because I'm rubbish at it,

I'm trying, I really am. I don't listen to Tom's music anymore and I don't wear that necklace he gave me and I dyed my hair because he always said what a nice color brown it was. And no one has to know that I keep hi CD's and necklace in my special box beneath my mattress, or that secretly I hate my hair too, because Tom hates it. No on has to know.

And whenever Tom's not here, I manage okay. I can remember that he's probably with some other girl and hates my hair and thinks of me like Frances, only older. And I can forget how he used to sit for hours and watch me draw, strumming his guitar and making up lyrics about how amazing he thought I was. And how he'd somehow be able to tell when I was unhappy, and do tricks until I cheered up. And how he would greet me every morning with a bright smile and a "Hello, Permanent Rose!" I can forget those things. Mostly.

But when he's here, I can't. When he's here I feel like I will fall apart, because everything is so good and yet so awful. The ups and downs are at war inside me, mixing like those science fair baking-soda-and-vinegar volcanoes, until the bubbles are too much and they come shooting out of me in an explosion.

And then I have to run away or laugh hysterically or cry or scream, only not where people can see me else they'll think I'm crazy.

I hate that he makes me feel this way when he's here. I hate that when I'm with him I forget what I'm doing and I (almost) forget he's ever been away and all I can think is Tom.

I wish he were here always.

XXXX

Tom

Rose loves to make me smile.

That is one thing that hasn't changed.

Whether she means to or not, she's always been able to pull a grin out of me even with the smallest, most insignificant things.

Which bothers me.

I am a grown up now, officially age nineteen and living on my own. You'd think I could control myself a bit better, but around Rose Casson I can't control anything.

In America, I'm a very sophisticated person. I'm a fairly successful musician, I have a nice apartment, and I have a gorgeous girlfriend who should be everything I could possibly want. And I still laze around sometimes and make up melodies and sing fragments of songs with made-up lyrics, but it never sounds quite as good as it does in England with the Cassons, and nobody wants to paint on my walls, even though they're plain white and rather large.

And I like it in America. It's pretty nice.

But when I go back to England, everything gets messed up.

Because Rose is there.

She can still make me smile, and often does, but lately she seems to be deliberately trying to annoy me. Talking to Molly and Kiran instead of me, and then they all giggle and look at me, then look back away and giggle some more. Leaving abruptly in the middle of something, just walking away from me without a backward glance.

And Rose herself has become rather distracting, much to my dismay. I can't seem to make myself forget that she's grown up since I met her.

But really, how could I forget when the changes are so obvious. Not so much personality-wise, but physically….

No. No no no.

Thinking of Rose's suddenly present curves makes me want to bang my head against a wall. I shouldn't be thinking of her like that. Not only is she only fourteen years old, she's also practically my little sister. Like Frances.

Only, not. Not at all like Frances, much to my chagrin.

I can't escape Rose, even by going back to the States. She's always there with me, laughing in my ear and appearing in distracting clothing at inopportune moments.

Which makes me angry. That I can't forget her and that she's so unforgettable.

And the secret part of my mind that I won't acknowledge is whispering at me, you're only angry you can't forget about her because she can so obviously forget about you. Getting up and leaving without a word of excuse, hanging out with her friends all the time. You're hardly even a part of her lise anymore.

I can't bear to think like that. I try to cope with having a separate life from Rose (practically a foreign concept to my sub-conscious) and I try and remind myself about the things I do have in my life. Like Meg. I try to think of her and talk about her and tell myself inside that she's just as good as Rose and I don't have to care about a little fourteen year old anymore.

I can't be fooling anyone.

It must be so obvious that I revolve around Rose, whether she likes it or not. And it certainly seems that she doesn't like it. And I should be a good person and do what she wants and leave her alone, but I can't.

Cutting Rose out of my life would be like losing an arm. Or a leg. Or both.

Which is to say, extremely painful and hardly even possible.

If only it were the same for her.

XXXX

Rose

Tom put me in a Rotten Mood.

Earlier, everything was perfect. I was painting (on regular canvas this time, for art class) and Tom came along with his guitar and lay down next to me and started playing, just a drifting sort of melody with no real purpose. And I kept on painting, and Tom began to sing. It was just like it used to be when everyone was home and happy and together.

And, just as I was starting to relax and be happy like I used to be with Tom and it finally felt right, like the world was falling back into place after being out of sync for so long, he stopped singing.

"Usually Meg does the next lines," he explained. "She doesn them better than me."

And the world came crashing down.

The wonderful high of being with Tom turned into the ultimate low. I think I dropped my paintbrush as my eyes blurred with tears. I barely even noticed when Tom promptly got up and left.

Why?

Why does he do that?

Why does he go and ruin good feelings and leave me alone for months and forget about me? Why does he come back with gorgeous girlfriends and talk about them and make me feel bad? Why can't he just stay here? Why can't he just go away forever?

I cried for a while, until all the saddness was gone and all that was left was frustration and anger.

And hunger.

So I went downstairs into the kitchen to make food. Of course I made spaghetti with marmite and chocolate sauce, because that's all I can make. And now that Indy's gone at university no one else will make me food, so spaghetti and chocolate it is.

I was just mixing up the chocolate sauce when I heard footsteps approaching, and a very familiar and rather unwelcome voice spoke.

"Mm, spaghetti. Can I have some too?"

My anger came rushing back, and I scowled down into the chocolate sauce. "No."

XXXX

Tom

How can on person possibly be so aggravating? What gives Rose the right to be the only one who can shake my calm? How can one little girl cause so much turmoil inside me?

Earlier, things were different.

I was wandering around, looking for Rose. I found her as usual, absorbed in a piece of art. It was so like things used to be back when I was twelve and in England for the first time.

I felt the atmosphere of the past surround me, and it felt so good I couldn't help but obey its compellation. I lay down next to Rose and began playing my guitar, just a random collection of melodies. And songs began to flow out of my mouth, actual and altered and improvised.

It felt comfortable, easy, woderful to be with Rose, to just _be_.

But gradually the music changed tone. It took me a while to notice, but once I did the shift was unmistakable.

The bits of songs I was singing had become more and more romantic in nature. Not as much directed at Rose, as just romantic in general.

Still.

I sat up abruptly as soon as I noticed, feeling the comfortable atmosphere slipping irretrievably away.

I can't think of Rose that way. I just can't.

She's so much younger than me. It's wrong.

She's my best friend's sister. Indy wouldn't approve.

And (most importantly, of course) I have a girlfriend. Meg. Of the shiny, stick-brown hair and large teeth. Who sings with me. Who shares her life with me.

Unlike Rose.

(Why didn't I put that reason first?)

Just to remind myself, I said so outloud. "Usually Meg sings the next lines. She does them better than me."

It didn't help.

I couldn't deal with all of that in front of Rose. So I ran away and hid in Indy's room and spent half an hour reminding myself (some more) that I already have a girlfriend who is nice enough and uncomplicated and likes me, until my growling stomach drove me downstairs into the kitchen.

Rose was there, standing over a bowl of something while water boiled on the stove.

Must be spaghetti.

"Mm, spaghetti. Can I have some too?" I remarked, affecting indifference to what had happened a mere thirty minutes previously.

She stopped mixing for a moment, appearing to frown before she answered, sharp and clear and final.

"No."

At first, I wasn't sure I'd heard her correctly. "Excuse me?" I asked, allowing my inflection to show my disbelief.

She dipped her head a little bit further, resuming mixing at a furious speed. "You heard me," she muttered, refusing to look at me.

My temper flared up.

How can one little inconsequential girl infuriate me so much?

XXXX

Rose

As soon as I answered, I heard Tom's breath huff out. "Excuse me?" he said, clearly annoyed.

I wasn't willing to back down. He had ruined my day. Why should I be nice to him now? Scowling harder, I started mixing up the chocolate sauce again, slopping the mixture around violently.

"You heard me," I said, a little bit reluctant to look at him in case my will crumbled in the face of his probably anger. (Devastating good looks not to be discounted either.)

My statement was followed by the worst sound possible.

A door slamming.

Tom had pushed the door to the kitchen shut, closing us in with no chance of escape.

The room suddenly felt a lot smaller.

He spoke. "Oh, you'll make me some food too? Thank you, that's so kind of you."

I opened my mouth to respond, but he just continued on.

"I'm so glad we've been spending such quality time together while I'm here. Especially with Indy gone so much at college and with Sarah, it's nice to have it be so apparent that I still have one friend here who cares about me and wants to spend time with me—"

Steam was practically pouring out my ears, listening to Tom's little speech. He didn't need friends here, he must have plenty of them in America.

Like Meg.

So why can't he just stay over there, all endearing and unobtainable instead of being here and being all sarcastic and frustrating. How dare _he_ complain to _me_.

"—And I want to thank you also for including me with your delightful friends. It's great that you've let me become part of your life here, instead of having forgotten all about me over there in lonely America!" He stopped speaking, breathing a bit heavily and looking slightly shocked at what he'd just said, yet still adamant.

A thousand responses rushed through my mind, all of them witty and cutting and sarcastic and defensive and none of them exactly truthful.

Suddenly, I was so tired I could've cried.

But I summoned enough energy to snap back a retort. "You're welcome."

He sounded incredulous. "That's all you have to say to me?"

I still wouldn't look at him, but I stopped mixing the chocolate and put the bowl down on the counter, raising my head to stare at the wall as I wished for imperviousness. "What do you want, Tom?"

"What do I want? What do I want?" He gave a short bark of laughter, running his hands through his hair in an exasperated motion. "Haven't I just told you what I want?"

I said nothing.

"Rose," he sighed. "Permanent Rose. I want to know you don't forget about me. I go back to America and you stay here and your life continues without me, and every time I come back I am less and less a part of it. Every time I leave, you change, and I can't keep up. And you don't help at all. You just go off with your friends and ignore me and I can't believe it of you, Rose. You came all the way to New York to find me, Rose, when you were only eight years old. And now you won't even let me share your meal."

I was stunned.

It seemed like a dream. It seemed like he really cared…

And then I remembered.

Meg.

XXXX

Tom

I stopped, feeling more emotional than—well, than pretty much ever.

Unusual.

I han't meant to say those things to Rose, hadn't meant to say those things at all, ever. And yet, her absolute lack of response to my earlier outburst engendered such a strong reaction that I couldn't help but express all the frustration and worry pent up inside me for so long.

And now that I'd said what should never have been said, it's almost a good feeling. Almost.

Because now all I could do was wait for her to react.

For a few long moments, she stood there, just staring at the wall. I felt hope blossom inside me, hope that maybe we could reverse the damage time and distance had done to us.

Then her shoulders seemed to slump, and she turned her head back down to the bowl, picking it back up and stirring, her voice uncharacteristically emotionless as she said, "Fine. I'll make you some spaghetti."

My hope wilted, replaced with anger once more.

This was unacceptable.

I strode over to Rose and took the bowl out of her hands, setting it on the counter. She still wouldn't look at me, so I grabbed her shoulders and pushed until she faced me, then tipped her chin up so I could look into her eyes.

At last, a spark of defiance.


	2. Chapter 2

Tom

"Leave me alone." Rose jerked roughly out of my hold, glaring fiercely.

I smiled.

This was Angry Rose, Stubborn Rose, who didn't know what was good for her. Rose as she used to be, obstinate and impetuous and confidant and willing to do dumb things for the people she loves.

This Rose I can deal with.

"No," I said. "No, I won't leave you alone anymore. I am tired of you ignoring me."

"I'm not ignoring you! I just don't want to talk to you." She scowled at me.

My heart sank, despite this statement's ring of falsehood. What if I _was_ completely wrong? What if Rose really _had_ changed so much while I wasn't here, and really _didn't_ want to talk to me anymore?

That would be, well, awkward. And unfortunate...

Then I heard it. The statement that could have changed everything.

"Why don't you just go back to darling Meg in America," Rose muttered under her breath, turning to dump the spaghetti into the now-boiling pot of water on the stove.

Oh.

Ohhh…

Darling Meg. Darling. Rose only uses that word in one sense, the intended sense.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no, this can't be good. I never should've overheard that, I never should've listened, I can't be thinking this…

Think of Meg. Darling Meg, Meg of the loud voice and the long hair, Meg who is my age and not related to any of my friends.

My mind was going crazy, practically turning inside out as I thought through everything that just shifted, that just changed eternally and irrevocably. Trying to process the turmoil of emotion inside of me was too much, and a semi-hysterical snort of laughter escaped unbidden out of my mouth.

Rose whirled around at the sound, nearly knocking over the pan. The expression on her face made me think of a tiger. A small, unhappy tiger.

"Sorry," I apologized, instantly contrite.

"No you're not!" She shouted, stomping her foot on the floor like a toddler. "Just laugh at me, then, and go back to America and tell all your cool American friends about the Stupid British Girl you used to know and you can all have a laugh and I don't care, I don't—" She paused to gasp in a breath, then continued right on "—because I don't need you anymore, I don't need you and your music and your jokes and your smiles and you can just take them back to New York and give them all to Meg because I don't want them anymore because you don't want to give them to me. And I don't care. I don't."

She sounded doubtful at the end, more like she was convincing herself than me.

That's what I told myself, anyway.

I sighed. "Permanent Rose Casson."

She frowned stubbornly at me. "What?"

"Rose," I said again, raking my fingers through my hair. "Haven't you been listening to anything I've said?"

XXXX

Rose

It was like my brain had become disconnected from my mouth. I couldn't control it, words just came pouring out of me in a jumbled rush for nonsensical things that shouldn't have been said. All the hurt and confusion I'd been feeling rose up and spilled off my tongue in a flood.

And worse than that, it was apparent I didn't really mean what I said.

I finally managed to shut myself up, almost feeling a blush creep up my face as I waited, ashamed and apprehensive, for Tom's response. What must he be thinking…

The sigh issued from his lips did not help.

"Permanent Rose Casson."

"What?" I braced myself for ridicule or utter rejection—

"Rose. Haven't you been listening to anything I've said?"

Listening to him? Yes, of course I had been.

"How can you say that to me, Rose? How can you say I'd laugh at you or call you stupid or like Meg more than you?"

What?

What did Tom just say?

Did he just say that he likes me more than he likes Meg?

"Rose, you're my best friend. I will always come back to you and I will always give you music and jokes and smiles and don't ever worry that someone will take your place in my life. You're special, Rose, don't you ever forget it. Not ever."

Wow.

"Really, Rose, how could you have thought that? You have some crazy ideas sometimes, but you're cute enough that I guess it doesn't matter." He stuck his hands in his pockets, obviously finished for the moment, and gazed at me contentedly.

Silence filled the kitchen as I thought, a small smile on my face.

Until the insistent beeping of a timer shattered the peace. It did not break my concentration, though; I was still focused on processing what Tom had said

He thought I was cute.

I took the spaghetti off the heat and went around the kitchen, mechanically preparing our meal as Tom just stood there and watched, understanding that he didn't need to help or interrupt me.

Mutely, I handed him a bowl of spaghetti.

We both picked up our forks and dug in, then made identical expressions of disgust and spat our mouthfuls back out.

We looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. In my focus on Tom, and his focus on me, we hadn't paid enough attention to the food.

The hot chocolate sauce had ended up on top of the spaghetti, along with the marmite, producing a particularly ghastly effect.

Inedible.

I sighed.

"Come on, Permanent Rose," Tom said, slinging an arm across my shoulders. "Let's dispose of this mess, and don't worry about it. I'll take you out for fish 'n' chips tonight, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed happily, dumping the ruined spaghetti in the compost bin. Tom followed suit, and soon we were out the door and down the road, holding hands almost just like best friends.

All was well in my world.

(For now.)


End file.
